


Met at the Met

by chilibabie07



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Awesome Bucky Barnes, Captain America Steve Rogers/Modern Bucky Barnes, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Meet-Cute, Past Steve Rogers/Dum Dum Dugan, Shrunkyclunks, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-12
Updated: 2020-09-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:09:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26421667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chilibabie07/pseuds/chilibabie07
Summary: He was catapulted against his will into a new century. He had nobody here, everyone from back then is dead. He had nobody he could confide in, nobody to listen to him, nobody to give him a hug.He didn’t have a support system like the rest of them did.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 7
Kudos: 176





	Met at the Met

**Author's Note:**

  * For [parfaitdiem](https://archiveofourown.org/users/parfaitdiem/gifts).



> A commission done for parfaitdiem for donating to the Massachusetts Bail Fund and the Martha P. Johnson Institute. The prompt they gave me was a Shrunkyclunks Meet-cute, and I kinda took it and ran with it. I loved working on this and had a lot of feels while writing xD
> 
> This has been beta'd by [Jas](https://twitter.com/dot_astralis?s=09), thank you so much! <3
> 
> Title is a pun that came from my own imagination.

Steve goes to the Met a lot. He usually just wanders through the galleries, looks at pictures, sometimes sits on benches. He looks at the painting and sculptures; sometimes he looks at the other visitors too. He often notices a tour guide, maybe two or three years younger than him, leading school groups through the exhibitions, talking about each with passion. The kids all seem to love him, listening to every word the guide says. His face lights up whenever a kid asks a question and he launches into a minutes-long answer. 

Of course, Steve isn’t just watching the tour guide. He also draws (not the tour guide, at least not without consent). He sketches the scenery of the museum, rough sketches of rooms, and the people inside, with the paintings roughly outlined. 

Before retiring from the Avengers and SHIELD he went to the Met at least once a week, when his schedule allowed it. Sometimes he’d be away on missions for weeks, the others noticing a gloomy atmosphere around him. He was either on missions, at the met, or on a run. Sometimes he attended the weekly movie night at Avengers Tower, but more often than not he declined. The others, but especially Tony, always reminded him of the fact that he’s not from this century. They didn’t do it consciously, in fact, Steve is sure they didn’t even realize the effect their words have on him. 

Movie night at Avengers Tower always meant that one person decides on a movie each week. A lot of times either Tony or Clint told Steve to pay attention to specific scenes, saying they’re a classic. Sometimes they made references to other movies and then dove into a deep explanation of what that reference means, and the significance of it. More often than not they told him it’s essential that he knows this. Whenever it was his turn to choose a movie, the rest all piled around him and rapidly fired suggestions at him, as if he couldn’t decide for himself. They constantly reminded him that he’s not from this century, that he was not “educated” in this century’s culture and language. 

Another thing the rest of the Avengers, and even SHIELD, did, is refer to him as Cap. Not Rogers, which would be a little better, and definitely not Steve. He got the feeling that they were not feeling close to him, since he’s from a different century, that they kept their distance by calling him Cap and not Steve. But to be honest, it didn’t make him feel welcomed. It made him feel as if they were all trying to maintain a work-relationship and nothing more. It made him feel even more out of place. 

He was catapulted against his will into a new century. He had nobody here, everyone from back then is dead. He had nobody he could confide in, nobody to listen to him, nobody to give him a hug.

He didn’t have a support system like the rest of them did.

All he did was go on missions, force-interact with the rest of the team, make it through a debrief without breaking down, and then go home to… break down. Nobody spared him a second look when he slinked out of the conference room without a word, nobody called him, nobody came over to his non-SHIELD apartment (SHIELD gave him one, but it was obvious that it was wire-tapped) to check in on him. He realized he could reach out to them, but when they didn’t treat him like a person, as a friend, then he was sure they wouldn't react to him reaching out, would think it’s weird.

They didn’t treat him like a person, they treated him as an asset. Useful on missions, but after that? He desperately wished they could undo the serum, making him useless to them again. He asked Bruce once, if it could be done. Bruce is the one who treated him the most as a person, but even he kept his distance. He let him down gently, too, saying that it’s not possible to separate the serum in his blood from the rest, that maybe a year or two after getting it, it could’ve been possible, but not now, not when it had time to integrate itself into his system. He at least looked apologetic when he told Steve the news. Steve thanked him and left the Tower for his apartment directly after, where he pulled out a bottle of Vodka. Only after downing half of it, he remembered that he can’t get drunk. He threw the bottle against the wall and curled up in a ball on the floor, quietly letting the tears flow over his face, making a puddle on the ground. He didn’t know how long he stayed in the position, but after crying for a few hours he felt slightly better. And decided to resign.

The next day he dropped by Fury's office at 8 am and placed his official resignation letter on the desk. Of course, Fury didn’t want to let him go, but Steve stayed stubborn, refusing any offers Fury made so he could get him to stay. In the end, Fury just nodded his head, telling Steve to drop the shield and uniform off at the reception. 

To Steve’s surprise, Fury didn’t come barging into his apartment at any time after that. He sent over a few papers documenting Steve’s resignation, as well as his army back-pay and bank account savings. It was like Fury knew that sooner or later Steve would resign, knew that he would stay stubborn about his decision.

It was the Avengers who visited him a few days later. Steve presumed Fury relayed the news to them and they decided to come over directly after. It was just Tony, Nat, and Clint, although, in Clint’s defense, he looked extremely uncomfortable and shot Steve multiple apologetic looks. Both Tony and Nat tried to get him to return, but Steve kept his ground, saying no every time. The three of them left soon after, and Steve could hear Tony perfectly well when he muttered that Steve was selfish with his decision. 

That made Steve think for a few days. Was it selfish to resign from a team that didn’t treat him as a person, which constantly made him uncomfortable, which reminded him all the time that he was not from this century?

But after thinking about it for a few days and remembering what it was being on the team, Steve was sure that he made the right decision. He was allowed to be selfish for once. 

And now here he is, in his own apartment in Brooklyn, with a view over Brooklyn Bridge and, beyond the river, Manhattan. He wasn’t sure if moving back to Brooklyn was the right decision, given how many memories are connected to the old Brooklyn, but one he stepped foot back into his home borough he never wanted to leave.

He spends his days going to the Met, taking walks, reading about everything he missed in those 70 years. He reads about the Civil Rights Movement, about MLK. He reads about Stonewall, about the legalization of gay marriage. He realizes that he doesn’t have to hide his attraction to the same gender anymore. He cries a bit then, realizing that he could be in public, holding the hand of Dugan. If Dugan would still be alive. But he isn’t, just like the rest of the Howlies. 

He buries himself in blankets and binges snacks and tv shows for a while after that. 

He draws a lot. During the 30s and then the war he never had time, never could just sit down and draw for hours. But now he can. Now he can go outside and sit in the park and sketch the trees and flowers and people. He can do so much now. 

He buys himself a kindle, buys lots of books. Fantasy, science fiction, historical books. Non-fiction, too. He reads books about general history, books about specific times or events. He reads articles online, research papers, everything. All that interests him. He purposely avoids any of the things the team claimed to be essential, deciding for himself what he wants to read or watch and what he doesn’t. He discovers audiobooks, buys some of the long fantasy or sci-fi series, and sits on the roof at night, watching the sky, listening to Lord of the Rings. 

The first time he sees the tour guide in one of the exhibitions, the word that immediately comes to mind is “beautiful”. Steve can’t take his eyes off him. Can’t stop looking at his face, his lean and tall figure, the curly brown hair on top of his head. It looks soft and fluffy. Steve wonders if it feels as soft as it looks. He blushes and quickly averts his eyes, not wanting to be caught staring. He holds out for almost five minutes before he glances back at the man. Gosh, he’s still so beautiful. And his smile. It feels like it lights up Steve’s insides, even the darkest corners. 

He makes sure to go to the Met more often, after that. He doesn’t know when the beautiful guide’s gonna be there, and he doesn’t try to find out. That would be more than a little creepy. So instead he walks through the exhibitions, stares at the paintings and sculptures, reads the little inscriptions beneath each, and sketches every now and then.

Every time he sees the tour guide, he makes sure to sit down somewhere near him, somewhere where he can listen to him ramble on about this painting or that sculpture, making even the most bored visitor look interested. His smile still blinds Steve, still makes him all tingly inside. He wants to wrap himself up in the smile, wants to dive in and never leave, wants to stay there where it’s light and where he feels happy. He realizes that he hasn’t felt like that for a long time, probably not since Dugan gave him a chaste kiss inside his tent back in ’44, away from any prying eyes. 

Once he realizes that he quickly leaves the Met, allows himself to gently shoulder away a few people, hastes home just in time before the tears come again. This time they’re happy tears though. He still misses the Howlies and especially Dugan, but now for the first time since he crashed the Valkyrie, he feels like he can be happy again. He feels like finally, he knows why he didn’t die. Fate had other plans for him. Cruel plans, but plans with a happy ending. He hopes. For the first time since crashing the plane, he smiles and can’t wait for the new day. 

He makes a to-do list, the next morning. He writes down what he wants to do in this city that’s familiar and yet so strange. He writes down all the places he wants to see in this country and outside of it, all the things he wants to do. For the first time, he’s optimistic that this new life that’s been given to him against his will, is going to be a good one. 

The first stop on his daily walk outside is the huge art store nearby. He spends at least two hours in the coloring pen section, can’t decide which to get, and then, after having a pen-related crisis, decides to just get them all. He carries them over to the cashier when he remembers that he wanted to get sketchbooks and watercolors as well. So he drops the coloring pens on the register and tells the sales associate that he’ll be back. They just smile back at him and make a shooing motion. Steve shoots them a grin and is off again.

He takes another thirty minutes to gather sketchbooks and while he’s there he gets some drawing pads, too. In the watercolor aisle, he has a minor crisis again and just grabs two different 48 color boxes. On the way back to the register he also quickly snags a box of colorful chalks, this set containing a mix of neon and pastel colors. 

The sales associate is practically beaming by the time he gets back, and Steve doesn’t know if it’s because he’s about to leave a shitton of money with the store or because he is practically vibrating with so much excitement, it’s visible to others. 

They also don’t seem to recognize him, which is awesome and a huge relief. Being part of the Avengers also meant being on television a lot. Every time he left his apartment, people would stop him on the street, either congratulate or thank him on the success of their last mission, or ask for a selfie or an autograph. A lot of times it was all three. Now people still occasionally recognize him, some still ask for autographs or selfies, but he feels it’s easier now, that not everyone does this. He believes that the fact he’s not on television anymore helped a lot with this. People tend to forget about celebrities, he guesses that’s what he is, when they’re not constantly in the spotlight.

And he likes it, loves it even. Enjoys that he can just go on a walk or run, or sit in a park or cafe, without everyone flocking around him, demanding him to sign a piece of paper or napkin, to take a selfie with them. He loves to be just another civilian now, to be normal. Another thing that makes him feel like a person. 

The clerk packs everything into multiple big paper bags and punches Steve’s total in. His eyes slightly bulge when he sees the total, but then he reminds himself of his back pay and inflation, and his heart calms down again. He pays with his credit card and grabs the bags, thanking the clerk. 

Outside the store, he makes his way back to his apartment. He balances the bags onto his knee while he unlocks the door, and then tumbles into the apartment in a mix of bags and limbs. Nothing crashes to the floor, fortunately, and he quickly carries everything off into the second bedroom, that he converted into an art studio. 

He just gently drops everything on the floor and then rushes back outside again. He wants to get to the Met before it’s getting crowded again. If he sees the beautiful guide today, he’s decided he’s going to talk to him. About what he doesn’t know yet, he’ll come up with something short-term.

At the Met, he flashes his visitor pass and is waved through. He immediately books it to the Arms & Armor exhibition, which is where he’s seen the tour guide on most Thursdays. 

He sits down on one of the benches and places his bag between his feet. He stares a bit at the different armors, even though by now he could basically draw them from memory. That says a lot about how often he sat here, pretending to look at everything while he in fact just listened to the tour guide’s smooth, silky voice. 

After a few minutes of just looking around the room, he takes out one of his older sketchbooks and a pencil, and opens it to an empty page. He’s sketched exhibitions in the Met so many times already, considering how often he’s here, but he still hasn’t sketched everything. He loves sketching, but also it’s a good excuse in case someone asks him why he is here nearly every day.

He only has to wait for however long it takes him to draw the details of part of the armor in front of him until the tour guide appears. Steve keeps his head down, but listens intently to him telling a story of lost love and adventures connected to an exhibit. The kids that appeared with him seem to love it, even their teacher looks at the exhibit with awe after the story. Steve decides to draw it next, and already makes plans. Maybe he’ll draw the exhibit with roses all around it. 

He is so immersed in sketching and listening to the guide that he doesn’t notice them getting closer. Sure, their voices get louder, something Steve notices easily these days, but it doesn’t actually register in his brain until the guide is standing right in front of him. Steve pulls his legs back from where they were stretched out and taking up a lot of floor space; sometimes he forgets that everything about him is bigger now. 

“Sorry,” he shyly whispers and blushes with embarrassment. He clears his throat and tries again, this time louder. “Sorry.”

“It’s all good,” the guide says, and Steve sneaks a glance up through his eyelashes, promptly blushing even more. From this close he’s even prettier, and now Steve can make out the freckles on the guide’s cheeks and nose. It’s beautiful and Steve’s hands itch to draw them. 

But he can’t. Instead, he just smiles at the guide and turns his eyes back down to his sketch. He gets a few more rough lines done before the guide plops down on the bench next to him. Confused, Steve lifts his head and sees that the teacher is ushering the kids along to the next exhibition or exit. 

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Comes suddenly from his right and he flinches minutely. He didn’t actually expect the guide to strike up a conversation. 

“Yeah,” he nervously says, glad that this time his voice seems to be back to normal. 

“The details in this are extraordinaire,” the guide continues, and at first Steve thinks he’s talking about the armor but when he glances to his right the guide is looking down at his sketchbook, lying page-up on his lap. He doesn’t think his face can get any redder, but it certainly feels like it.

“Thank you,” he manages to get out, voice only cracking a bit at the end.

He’s still staring at the guide when he lifts his face and his eyes meet Steve’s. They’re the prettiest gray he’s ever seen, he can even make out tiny splotches of blue and green and his brain already moves to his pencils, thinking about which would be best to capture the color and emotion. He’s so deep in thought that he nearly misses the guide extending his hand.

“I’m Bucky,” he says, holding out his hand towards Steve. 

Steve carefully takes the offered hand, nearly sighing at how soft the skin feels, only barely callously. “I’m Steve,” he says, although the guide — Bucky — probably already knows that, considering Steve’s looks and that he is basically a celebrity. But Bucky doesn’t give any indication that he recognizes Steve, only shakes his hand back, and smiles warmly at him.

“You come here often, don’t you?” he asks, still holding Steve’s hand in his own. Oh god, has he noticed Steve basically always being here?

Steve slowly lessens his grip on Bucky’s hand and then lets go before answering. “Uhm, yeah. I come here to sketch the exhibits mostly,” he says and lifts his sketchbook up from his lap to wave it around for a moment before setting it down again. 

“That’s cool,” Bucky answers and smiles.

Then they sit in silence for a while. Steve doesn’t know if he should say something or if he should keep sketching. In the end, he decides to do neither, instead he just stares at the exhibit he was drawing, deep in thoughts. Bucky seems to do the same, he makes no indication to continue the conversation, but also doesn’t get up. 

Finally, Steve can’t stand the silence any longer, feeling like he has to say something or else he’d combust. “Do you not have another tour right now?” he asks. Inwardly he groans, while on the outside he just blushes. Again. His question makes it sound like he wants to get rid of Bucky. _Well done, Rogers_ , he scolds himself. 

Bucky surprises him and chuckles. “Nah, that class back there was my last. I’m on my lunch break now,” he says and his eyes crinkle when he smiles brightly at Steve.

“Oh, okay,” Steve says. He tries to come up with another answer or another question, but his brain draws a blank so he stays silent.

“So,” Bucky breaks the silence. Steve turns his head towards him, stares curiously into Bucky’s amused eyes. 

“Huh?” he makes, when Bucky doesn’t continue.

“When are you going to ask me out?” Bucky says with a small smile on his lips. 

Steve’s brain short circuits. _What?_ “What?” he manages to choke out. Was he not as subtle as he thought? 

“You weren’t really subtle about it,” Bucky says, his smile growing bigger. “I kept catching you staring at me more often than you would stare at your sketchbook or the exhibits.”

“I’m sorry,” is Steve’s first thought. His face is hot with embarrassment, and he’s sure it’s redder than Iron Man’s suit.

Bucky chuckles lightly. “Don’t be. It was adorable,” he says. “You always seemed like you wanted to talk to me, but then stopped yourself at the last second.”

“Yeah,” Steve whispers in answer. “I didn’t know how to… approach you.”

“I noticed,” Bucky grins. “That’s why I decided to make the first step.”

Steve just nods dumbly. He’s trying to think of what to say, but honestly, he doesn’t know. Does Bucky want him to ask him out now? Does Bucky want him to just propose a time and place instead? Oh god, should Steve get flowers first? 

A hesitant hand on his shoulder brings him out of his head. “I can see you overthinking, Steve,” Bucky’s soft voice comes from his right. “There’s no need to. If you’re gonna ask me out, my answer will be yes. There’s nothing you have to worry about.”

Steve channels all his courage and turns his head to the right, staring right into Bucky’s eyes. He swallows a few times, forms a sentence in his head, and only when he’s sure he won’t stumble over any words, he opens his mouth. “Would you like to go on a date with me?”

Bucky’s hand, still lightly lying on Steve’s shoulder grips him a bit tighter, more confident now. “I’d love to,” he says with a huge smile on his face. 

“Right now?” Steve asks before he can stop himself. He also can’t stop himself from sounding hopeful, Bucky did say he’s on his lunch break right now. 

Bucky laughs quietly and lets his hand fall down from Steve’s shoulder to his hand, gripping it lightly, thumb drawing circles into the back. 

“I wish I could, but my break ends in twenty minutes,” Bucky explains and ducks his head down. 

“That’s okay,” Steve says. And it is, it really is. “When are you free?”

“Sundays and Mondays are my days off, usually,” Bucky says. “Sometimes I have to work on short notice if someone else calls in sick.”

Steve makes a humming sound. “What about Sunday then? I know a family-run cafe in Brooklyn near Prospect Park. I can pick you up?”

“Sure,” Bucky says. “Give me your phone, I’ll give you my number.”

Steve pulls his phone out of the back pocket of his jeans and quickly unlocks it and opens the contacts app. “Here,” he says, offering it to Bucky, who takes it and quickly types in his name and number before giving it back. 

“Text me so I have your number, too,” he says and stands up in one swift movement, Steve automatically following him. Only now does Steve realize that Bucky is actually nearly as tall as himself, only two or three inches of height difference. They’re also standing really close. So close, in fact, that Steve can see tiny freckles on Bucky’s face, covering his nose and both cheeks. It’s adorable and Steve has to hold himself back from gently running the tips of his fingers over them.

Bucky smiles at him and pats his upper arm. “See you on Sunday, Steve,” he says and starts walking towards the exit of the exhibition room.

“Yeah,” Steve whispers and lets a tiny smile escape. 

After this, Steve doesn’t linger in the Met any longer. He makes his way home, and once inside immediately goes to his closet to stare at his clothes. Yeah, he definitely needs to go shopping. But today is Wednesday so he still has a bit of time until their date. He laughs quietly to himself. A date. He has a date with Bucky. He honestly never thought it would actually happen, but here they are. 

For the rest of the day, he relaxes on the couch, bingeing his way through Buzzfeed Unsolved. At some point, he orders some food and then remembers that he wanted to text Bucky, too. So he quickly types out a message and hits sent about half an hour later, after he’s done freaking out and questioning every word choice. 

He gets an answer back almost immediately.

***

On Sunday he gets up early for his morning run, showers quickly after, and then stands in his bedroom, towel around his waist, staring at the clothes he bought on Friday. They consist of black skinny jeans, laced boots, a simple olive green hoodie, and a leather jacket. What made him buy the last thing, he still isn’t sure, but there was a small voice in the back of his head telling him to get it so he did. He did not look at the overall price when he paid. He knows inflation is a thing that happened and made prices rise a lot, but still. 

Now that it’s the day of the date and he’s staring at his clothes he starts to second-guess himself. He nearly goes to the closet and grabs his normal attire of khakis and plaid shirts, but he remembers how nearly every guy his age wears skinny jeans and leather jackets or hoodies. 

So, he quickly towels himself dry and drapes the wet towel over his head, letting it soak up the water in his hair. He blindly stumbles towards the drawer and gets out a pair of socks and underwear. He puts both on before lifting both hands to grab the towel and rub it over his head. After, he throws it in the direction of the bathroom and comes to stand in front of the clothes, hands stemmed into his sides. 

He critically lets his eyes roam over the jeans and hoodie, trying to see if they make a good combination. Then he shakes his head. “Fuck it,” he says to himself and grabs the jeans first, putting them on. He has to jump up and down a bit and do some squats to get them over his thighs and ass, but finally they’re sitting where they should be sitting. The hoodie gets pulled on, too, more quickly than the jeans because it doesn’t require half a work-out to get it on. Then he steps to the side and in front of his mirror, turning this way and that, looking at his reflection. He looks good, he decides. Like he isn’t from the 30s, like he actually was born only 35 years ago and not in 1918. 

He does one last turn, admires how good his ass looks, and then walks into the bathroom, picking up the towel on the way. He hangs it up on the towel rack and steps in front of the mirror over the sink. His hair is mostly dry now, but it’s sticking up in all directions. He cards his fingers through and hopes that will suffice. And it does. After, his hair looks better, longer parts swept to the side and back. The sides and back are getting long again and he thinks about quickly shaving them a bit, but then his eyes fall to the clock next to the mirror and he realizes that if he wants to get flowers before picking Bucky up he has to leave now. 

Back in the bedroom he puts on his new boots and laces them up tightly, and slips the jacket on. He does a last sweep of the apartment, making sure that every window is closed and locked, before leaving, locking the door behind him and making sure it really is locked and not just jammed. 

There’s a pep in his step as he walks towards the flower shop that is located between his and Bucky’s apartment. They live rather close, both in Brooklyn. Steve wonders why he’s never seen Bucky here, but guesses that it’s because before retiring he was constantly either at the tower for training or away on missions, and after, he never left his house much except going to the Met or to the park. 

He never really paid attention to what Brooklyn looks like, too scared he’d forget how it looked before. But now that he has time and also the utensils to draw Brookly from before so he’d never lose those memories, he finally pays attention to how it looks today. A lot of the houses are from before, just renovated. There’s also a lot of diners and restaurants, mostly the family-run ones, that are still there. He makes a mental note to go to some of them, maybe take Bucky, too. 

He wonders if Bucky knows who he really is. He’s never made any indication that he does, never once during their conversation at the Met looked at him with recognition in his eyes. When they texted Steve also never got the feeling that Bucky knew. Either he really doesn’t, or he does and just doesn’t make a big deal out of it. Steve likes both options. Although he promises himself to at least tell Bucky who he really is, in case he really doesn’t know, at the end of today’s date. He doesn’t want to hide it, but he also doesn’t want to make a big deal out of it. 

Soon he arrives at the flower shop, which is not as packed as Steve thought it would be. There are only two other customers with him, and both are picking a pre-ordered bouquet up. That doesn’t take long, and suddenly Steve finds himself at the counter, helplessly staring at the florist. They’re amusedly looking at him, before taking pity on Steve.

“Is there a specific thing you’re looking for?” they ask.

“Uhm… Not really?” he answers hesitantly. “I sort of… have a date and want to surprise him with flowers?” It sounds more like a question.

“Okay, I can work with that,” they say. “Do you know of any allergies he has?”

Steve wants to bang his head on the counter. Of course, he doesn’t. What if he turns up with flowers only for Bucky to be allergic to them? He wonders briefly if it would be acceptable to go back home and hide under his blankets.

“It’s okay if you don’t, there are some flower options that rarely ever incite an allergy reaction.” The florist brings him back into reality by shoving a flower into his face. “What about this one?” 

It’s pink. Steve is sure Bucky will love it. The individual petals are rather small, but together they form huge flowers. The leaves are very big, too, a dark green that immediately has Steve thinking about which pencils he would use to capture this specific color. 

“They’re hydrangeas,” the florist says. “They’re especially good for people with allergies. We also have them in blue, white, or purple.”

“No, pink is perfect,” Steve says. The florist nods and takes the bouquet to the counter to wrap the stems in wet paper towels. They carefully place them in a bag that leaves the blossoms exposed and hand it over to Steve, who takes them and gently cradles them against his chest with one hand, so he can pay. 

Once outside again, he pulls out his phone to take another look at Bucky's address and then starts walking. It’s not far anymore from the flower shop, and Steve has to actively slow himself down so he won’t be there too early.

But of course his feet don’t listen to his brain and so he stands in front of the building Bucky lives in exactly ten minutes before he was supposed to be here. He decides to just sit on the stone stairs leading up to the front door for a few minutes.

Before he can sit down though, a voice from above calls down to him.

“Steve? I’ll buzz you in, come on up!” Bucky yells down from where he’s leaning out of an open window. Even from this far away Steve can see that he’s wearing a huge smile on his face.

Steve quickly walks up the stairs to the front door and when he hears the buzzing sound, he pushes it open. He tries not the sprint up the flights of stairs, but it’s a close thing. Mere seconds later he is on Bucky’s floor and can see him leaning against the door frame. 

“You got me flowers?” is the first thing Bucky says when Steve is in front of him. He nods and extends his hand holding the bouquet. Bucky carefully takes it and presses his nose into one blossom, inhaling deeply. His eyes close and he sighs a little. “Thank you, they’re lovely, Steve.”

“They’re hydrangeas. I didn’t know if you have any allergies, and the florist said those are good for people with allergies,” Steve hurriedly explains. 

Bucky lifts his head away from the flowers and smiles up at him. He extends his free hand to Steve to take and then pulls him inside. “I’m gonna find a vase for the flowers. You can sit on the couch, I’ll be right there.”

Steve walks into the direction Bucky points him in and enters an airy living room, big windows looking out on the other buildings around them. He takes a seat on the big and plush couch, sinking into the comfortable cushions. He doesn’t think he’ll ever manage to get back up from the couch. 

Bucky soon joins him on the couch, sitting down close to Steve, but not close enough to touch him. Still, Steve can feel his body heat radiating from one side. 

“What if,” Steve starts, but stops, thinking that it’s a stupid idea anyway. But Bucky looks at him encouragingly. So he continues. “What if we just stay here and get to know each other?”

There’s a big smile spreading over Bucky’s face and he shuffles a bit closer to bump their shoulders together. “I’d like that,” he says.

Steve sighs in relief, before remembering why he had the idea to begin with. He realized that if he was going to tell Bucky about who he really was, he didn’t want to do it in a public setting in case the conversation would attract attention from other people. He really doesn’t want to deal with people asking for an autograph or selfie when he’s supposed to be on a date with Bucky.

He clears his throat. “I have something important to tell you,” he starts and sneaks a glance at Bucky’s face. All he can see is curiosity and still that blinding smile. Bucky nods his head to signal Steve that he’s listening. “I’m… I don’t know how to say this.” He groans and leans forward to put his elbows on his knees and buries his face in his hands. 

There’s a hand rubbing comforting circles into his back, and he feels Bucky shuffling closer again, until he’s pressed into Steve’s side completely. He wraps an arm around his shoulders and rests his head on the right one. It’s quiet for a moment. 

Then, “Is this about you being Captain America?” Bucky whispers. “Because I know, Steve.”

“Oh,” is all Steve can answer to that. He slowly straightens up again and rests his head against the back of the couch, staring up at the ceiling. “I retired a few weeks ago.”

“Yeah, SHIELD had a short press conference, it was everywhere,” Bucky says. “I’m glad you did, by the way.”

Steve lifts an arm and wraps it around Bucky, pulling him in close and practically half on top of him. He doesn’t know why he did it, but it feels good, having another body close, being able to hold someone else. Steve doesn’t think he’ll be able to let go anytime soon. “Me, too.”

Bucky shuffles around a bit until he’s more comfortable, face pressed into Steve’s neck, legs thrown over his thighs and arms wrapped around his waist. 

Steve wants to cry. He never felt so good, so comfortable in a long time. He wants to stay here in this position forever. “Can I stay?” It just slips out. He didn’t even notice he opened his mouth to say something until it was too late. But Bucky doesn’t react badly, doesn’t move away, and look at him weirdly. He just tightens his arms around Steve’s waist.

“It’s just… I haven’t hugged someone or cuddled with someone in a long time,” Steve whispers. “It just feels so good.” He can hear his own breath hitch, can feel his eyes start to burn with tears forming. 

Bucky lifts his head from where it was tucked into Steve’s neck. He places one hand on Steve’s cheek and turns his head slightly towards him. There’s a smile on his lips, his eyes glinting with happiness. 

“Of course you can stay,” he says, followed by a chaste kiss pressed to his lips, then his cheeks and finally the tip of his nose.

Steve hums in answer and pulls Bucky completely on top of him, shuffling both of them around until he’s stretched out on the couch, Bucky being his personal blanket. “Thank you,” he hoarsely whispers. 

Bucky pats his arm before tucking his face back into Steve’s neck. His breath tickles the skin, brushing warm against it. 

Soon, Bucky has fallen into sleep, and Steve is close to follow him when he realizes that he hasn’t been this comfortable or happy in a long time. He falls asleep with a small smile on his face and a promise to himself that he will never let go of Bucky ever again.

**Author's Note:**

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